


Seven Days Of Regret

by Alyrockyforever



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Depressed Peter Parker, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt Peter Parker, Peter Parker Angst, Peter Parker Whump, Sad Ending, Sad Eugene “Flash” Thompson, Sad Happy Hogan, Sad May Parker, Sad Michelle Jones, Sad Ned Leeds, Sad Peter Parker, Sad Tony Stark, Sad everyone basically, Self-Harm, Sorry Not Sorry, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, ignorance, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2020-03-13 17:36:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18945658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alyrockyforever/pseuds/Alyrockyforever
Summary: The seven days leading up to Peter Parker’s death.(recently heavily edited, if you feel like you’ve read this story before, it’s because you probably have)





	1. Day 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I completely revamped this story so it’s changed a bit :)

Peter scratched at his scabbing wrist with a sigh, his gaze lazily drifting over the board. He glanced up at the clock just as the bell was about to go off, and closed his notebook,  beginning to gather his stuff. When it finally did go off, practically the second he started grabbing his stuff, the sound made him wince, shrill and loud in his ears.

He'd been planning to speak with Mr. Stark about his enhanced senses for months, but he just never got around to it. The teen made a note to himself to say something during lab day soon. Peter was pulled from his train of thought as his eyes landed on his friend. 

"Hey! Ned, do you want to work on the Lego set tonight?" He called, jogging to catch up with him.

"Oh, no, sorry man." Ned responded, an apologetic look on his face, "Flash invited me to a party at his house. Basically everyone's going." 

Peter frowned in confusion. "Well, _I_ didn't get invited. And I thought you didn't like Flash?" The doe-eyed teen said uncertainly, wincing at how conceited his voice sounded.

Ned shrugged, a strange look on his face. "He's not that bad anymore." 

Peter just stared at Ned, mouth open in surprise. Did he not remember the countless years of bullying from Flash? Or how he _still_ bullied Peter? Did he just not care?

"Yeah, alright." The brunet finally said, slowly and awkwardly. 

"Hey Ned! Come sit with us!" A blond kid across the hall called, interrupting their conversion as they walked into the lunch room. Peter hid a frown. His best friend would still sit with him, right?

"You don't mind, do you Peter?" Ned questioned with a sorry tone but a not-so sorry smile as he glanced between them. Peter plastered a fakes grin on his face.

"Of course not, go ahead."

Ned smiled, "Thanks Peter, see you!" and rushed off.

After his friend was no longer in his light of sight, Peter slowed down and dropped his fake smile. He sighed and turned around, walking into the bathroom. Glancing at a mirror as he passed, he felt sick to his stomach. He suddenly just wasn't hungry anymore.

After locking himself in a stall, he sat down on the closed toilet lid and pulled up his sleeves. His most recent cuts were already healed, leaving tiny white scars littered all over the insides of his arms. 

The teen pulled the small razor from his pocket, wincing as it nicked his fingers. He scoffed, then. How messed up did he have to be to wince when he sliced his finger open but to not react when he willingly cuts his wrists moments later? 

Once he glided the metal over each of his arms a few times, leaving bright red scratches with blood welling up, he pulled his sleeves back down and put the blade back into his pocket. Peter found it almost sad that he didn't even hesitate to tear blades through his skin anymore. 

Not wanting anyone to see his new cuts, he tugged his sleeves down to his palms, picking at the quickly forming scab on his finger as he fidgeted with his hands.

The boy glanced around the mostly empty halls and decided that no one would care if he missed the rest of the day, especially not Ned. It might have seemed bitter, but Peter was in a bad mood, so he wandered from the school, shoving his hands in his pockets. He was careful not to nick his hand again. 

By the time he made the walk all the way back to his apartment, his legs ached. He realized, with a heavy sigh that he'd left his bag and suit in his locker, but he didn't care all too much. He hadn't patrolled in days anyway.

Peter walked inside, not even bothering to look for May. She wouldn't be home until sometime in the middle of the night, only to leave again before he woke up. That's what it'd been like for months now. (Did it make him a terrible person to _miss_ her?)

The brunet held back another sigh as he dug through his closet, searching for his old suit. Once he found it, he held it up and shrugged, deciding that it was better than nothing. After pulling off his jeans and shirt, wincing at the amount of scars littering his body, he put on the suit and pulled the mask over his head, missing Karen slightly. 

How desperate did he have to be to miss an AI? She wasn't even _real._ He sighed, shaking the thought away, and opened his window, slipping out and shooting a web, swinging through the streets. Just a few moments later he heard a scream from a nearby alley. 

At least _somebody_  needed him.  
  


 


	2. Day 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since everyone likes it I guess here’s chapter 2

Peter hissed in a breath as he slipped in his window, his side banging against the window and wall, leaving a smear of blood. Great. May would absolutely _freak_  if she saw that, so he'd have to clean it before she saw it. 

The boy groaned, dropping onto his bed, hoping for a bit of sleep before school started, but then he felt suspiciously like he had too much time, and turned his head, leaning one eye to peek at his alarm clock. He then promptly groaned for the second time.

He was ten minutes late for school already. Heaving a sigh, Peter and stood, stumbling into the bathroom and stripping from his bloodied suit. He looked down at the gash across his abs and grimaced, watching as blood oozed from it.

There was no way he could treat that on his own, not without killing himself or passing out. But he couldn't tell Aunt May or Mr. Stark; they'd be mad at him and think he was irresponsible. And May, well, she'd never let him be Spider-Man again if she knew how much he actually got hurt and how severe his injuries usually were.

 Peter grabbed a handful of paper towels and dabbed them against the cut, wiping up as much blood as he could, while trying not to actually touch the wound because it hurt so damn much.

He had to bite his lip to keep from screaming, as every breath made it pulse in absolute agony, and felt blood pool in his mouth. Taking a deep breath through his nose, Peter grabbed the first aid kit and began wrapping a bandage around his waist, tears springing to the corners of his eyes at the pain. 

Finally he was done, and took a few painful steps to his closet, grabbing the first pair of jeans he saw and pulling them on, his face stuck in a wince. Next was a T-shirt, because the thought of struggling with a shirt for longer than he had to made him want to cry. 

Peter then proceeded to pull on a black hoodie, because he knew his side would most likely bleed through before the day was done. 

He opted to skip breakfast and headed for the door, glancing into the kitchen. He stopped short, though, almost not spotting the little pink sticky note on the counter. May usually left those lying around when she needed to tell him something. 

He picked it up and deflated as soon as he began to read it.

  _I got a call from your teacher saying you missed school. I am not happy with you, young man._

It was followed with a small frowning face and it made tears rush to his eyes, his cheeks flushing in shame. Dropping it on the ground, his face hardened as he stormed from the apartment. Who _was_ happy with him anymore?

The boy walked all the way to the school, knowing he'd probably pass out from blood loss if he ran or swung. When he finally arrived, his side screaming in protest, he was an hour late. Great. He sighed heavily for what seemed to be the millionth time and walked to his locker, receiving disproving glances from passing teachers.

After grabbing the stuff he needed, he trudged into his second class and walked in, causing the teacher to stop talking. The man raised his brow. "Nice of you to finally join us, Mr. Parker." The man snapped with a snide tone to his voice. 

Peter looked down in embarrassment, muttering an apology, and shuffling to his seat. Ned wasn't in the spot next to him like he normally was; instead he was sitting by the kid that had called to him the day before, and chatting happily, not even seeming to notice Peter's presence.

He couldn't pretend that didn't hurt, trying not to let it get to him. Ned was allowed to have other friends than him. Peter Parker wasn't the center of the universe, and he shouldn't feel so bitter about Ned hanging out with someone else for once.

Despite his inner monologue, Peter spent the entire class trying not to cry because of his wound and because of just life in general, which caused him to fall asleep, his head buried in his arms. Toomes' voice haunted him the entire time he was asleep, and he finally jolted awake when the bell rang. Just as he was about to gather his stuff and stand, Flash pulled his chair out from under him. 

He collided with the ground with a thump, the breath being knocked out of him as tears stung his eyes.

"Oops, my hand slipped." The bully snickered and walked off with his friends without a glance back at the boy on the ground. Peter gasped in pain, grabbing his side with an agonizing breath and finally pulling himself up. He glanced around, seeing that Ned was already gone, along with everyone else. 

The teacher chose to simply look away and it kinda fucking hurt that literally nobody cared about him. Not one single person, and not one single bit. The teen swiped his stuff up and left the room, shoving his books into his locker and grabbing the stuff he needed for the next class, despite knowing he wouldn't do anything in that one either.

* * *

Peter cursed himself silently when he realized that he'd told Mr. Stark that he didn't have Decathlon practice today, and that it was totally okay to have a lab day. But he was wrong. That was _next_ Tuesday. 

He groaned, looking over at Happy's car with a frown. Quickly, he pulled out his phone and texted MJ, letting her know he couldn't make it, and rushed to the black car across the street. 

"Hi, Happy." He breathed, sliding in the back. The older man huffed quietly and Peter, as usual, put up a facade and started going on and on about his day, leaving out everything negative of course, because nobody cared about that.

He stopped abruptly, though, when Happy raised the glass partition between them. The dejected teen looked down sadly. Of _course_ Happy didn't want to hear about his day. Why would anyone?

As soon as Happy parked at the tower, Peter rushed from the car, not bothering to mutter a goodbye, because the man wouldn't care anyway. "Hello Mr. Parker." FRIDAY greeted cheerily as he stepped into the elevator. 

"Hi, FRIDAY, take me to Mr. Stark, please." He said kindly. 

"Right away, sir." The AI responded, seemingly happy to do the task. Then again, FRIDAY always sounded happy. The elevator door opened not a few moments later and Peter stepped into his mentor's lab with a fake smile painted on his lips. 

It wasn't that he wasn't happy to be there, it's that he just wasn't happy in general. It was hard to smile when there was nothing to smile about anymore.

"Hey, kiddo. Did you bring your suit?" The billionaire greeted from the far end of the lab, flashing a grin at the boy that Peter only ever saw directed to him. 

A spark of excitement filled Peter and he smiled genuinely, bounding over to the one person who actually wanted to see him. Maybe there was one reason to smile after all.

* * *

It isn't until later that night, once Peter was home in bed that he checked his phone, laying awkwardly so as not to hurt his side even more then it already was. Remembering the message he'd sent to MJ, he opened up their texts to read her response. 

_MJ: I told you last time, Parker, no more being late or you're off the team. You're off the team._

His heart dropped, and Peter struggled to swallow the lump in his throat as tears built in his eyes. Slowly, he dropped his phone on the ground, then buried his face in his pillow. And he cried.

 


	3. Day 5

For once, Peter finally showed up to school on time, and while he wanted to go hangout with Ned and possibly MJ, he didn't want them to see his puffy, red eyes and the dark circles under them. Then there was the fact that both of them were ridiculously intuitive and would notice his constant wincing and hissing because his wound still hadn't healed yet. 

With his accelerated healing, that was enough to set off warning bells in his head, yet he did nothing. It would heal eventually, right? He couldn't risk telling Mr. Stark or May. The first thing the teen noticed when he walked into his class was Ned looking pointedly away from him and frowning. 

Peter stopped next to his friend for a second, concerned, and no longer caring whether or not Ned saw his rumpled appearance. "Ned? Is something wrong?" He questioned quietly. The other boy only kept looking away and stuttering, began a conversation with the boy next to him. 

So Ned was ignoring him. Fine. He didn't care. It didn't matter. Peter rushed by him, an embarrassed heat on his face as the rest of the class laughed at him. If there were tears in his eyes, then that was nobody's business but his, right? If anybody else saw the tear tracks on his face, they didn't care enough to say anything.

"God, you're such a loser, Penis." Flash sneered from behind Peter, snickering and kicking his chair. It sent a jolt of pain through his side, causing him to yelp, gripping the desk tightly. The teacher was unamused and glared over at the teens. 

The bell rand, signaling the start of class and everyone quieted down. Flash, though, continued to kick the back of Peter's chair, making tears drip down his face at the pain. 

The brown eyed boy lowered his head onto the desk and tears flowed freely from his eyes. Why was Ned mad at him? What did he do? He didn't understand why everyone hated him so much. What did he ever do to Flash to make the boy hate him? What did he _do?_

Peter made it through the whole class (barely) without another sound and as soon as the bell rang, he pulled his hood up, grabbed his things, and walked out. 

He kept his head down, not wanting anyone to see the tear tracks on his cheeks. It wasn't like they'd care anyway. After putting his things in his locker, he contemplated skipping again. It had become a pattern and it wasn't like anyone could possibly hate him more than they already did, right?

Peter stalked into the bathroom and quickly locked himself in a stall, pulling up his sleeves. He'd managed to go an entire day without cutting. Who was counting, though?

He grabbed his blade, digging it into his skin and dragging it across his wrist harshly, repeating the process several times on both arms. Once he was satisfied with the amount of blood flowing from his flesh, he stopped. He couldn't keep going, not without passing out, or worse. And he didn't want that. . . right?

Finally, he pulled down his sleeves and safely deposited his blade back into his pocket. Just as he was about to stand and leave, though, the bathroom door opened and he heard two people walking in.

"-know right? Parker is such a loser." Flash was saying to the other person with a laugh. The brunet winced, holding back a sad sigh. He was used to the comments, but right now, it hurt worse. He felt tears well in his eyes again.

Suddenly, he froze in his place, though, when he heard the other person laugh. That was _Ned's_ laugh. Peter brought his hand up to his mouth to keep from making a noise, his eyes wide and mouth dropped open. "I mean, I don't know about -" Ned was speaking awkwardly and hesitantly, but he was still saying it. Peter tuned him out, not wanting to hear anything else.

Once he was  sure they were gone, he stayed sitting there for another ten minutes before fleeing the bathroom and dashing to his locker, a small cry slipping from his lips. Grabbing his bag, he quickly ran from the building and into the nearest alley, struggling to catch his breath as he shakily changed into his suit. 

Karen greeted him brightly but he didn't respond, ignoring the AI, choosing instead to swing off with a gasp. Why was it so hard to breath? Why was his head spinning? "Peter? Peter! You need to stop! You're experiencing a severe panic attack!" Karen cried worriedly.

He took her advice involuntary as he crashed onto the roof of a random building, laying on his back and crying out as his side jolted painfully, blood seeping from his wound once again. 

"Take a deep breath. Calm down. Would you like me to call Mister Stark?" The AI said hesitantly, sounding concerned. 

"No. No, I'm fine." He  gasped out as soon as he could speak again. 

It would only make him seem childish. Mr. Stark would shut him out just like everybody else if he bothered him. Everybody did eventually, but he was hoping to have his mentor around for just a little while longer. Peter made his way home slowly, choosing not to go and retrieve his bag. It was probably gone already anyway and he could go back and look tomorrow. 

When Peter finally got home from patrolling, it was around midnight and he once again clumsily slid in through his window, nearly falling to the ground. With trembling legs, he guided himself to his bed and dropped down with a cry of pain. His stab wound just hurt, so bad.

Painstakingly, he tore off his mask and threw it to the corner of the room, too exhausted to take his suit off. With a groan and a soft sob, he curled up into a ball and he cried. He cried for what seems to be hours, only stopping when something seemed to bring him out of his stupor. 

His stomach growled. When he stopped crying, it was out of pure bewilderment. When was the last time he'd eaten? Oh yeah, Sunday night he'd eaten dinner with May. He was fine, though. Too tired and in too much pain to eat.

May had Sundays off. He could wait until Sunday again, right? It's not like he really _needed_ food, anyway. He'd heard of people going a month without food and surviving, and he was a mutant so he could most likely go longer.

Then again, nobody else had his enhanced metabolism. Peter started to wonder if it would really be so bad to just. . . not eat again. Nobody would care, right? Peter smiled weakly, a genuine smile for the first time in a while, and gave himself a challenge: last until Sunday without food. And if he didn't? Oh well.

 


	4. Day 4

The next day, Peter decided to skip school entirely, as he was too exhausted to even get out of bed when he woke up. He knew May would be disappointed in him but that was nothing new. 

Everyone at school would probably be glad he was gone. Would it really be so bad if he _was_ just gone? No, no he couldn't think like that. He'd only disappoint everyone more. 

Because what was worse then some dumb spider kid? A depressed dumb spider kid, that's what. Peter sighed, looking down at his suit and letting out a bitter laugh, wincing at the pain it brought. 

He was glad that part of the suit was red. At least it matched the blood soaking through. Carefully, he stripped from his suit and pulled on a pair of sweatpants, then wandered over to the bathroom with a panting breath.

Slowly, hissing, he peeled off the soaked bandages and winced at the inflamed gash that seemed to be the same, if not worse, than it was at the beginning. After wiping it down with a stifled scream, Peter slowly changed the bandages, practically biting through his lip to keep from shouting. 

After that, he pulled on a hoodie and made his way to the living room, flicking the television on. He had nothing better to do than to sit around, so he browsed through the channels, stopping at the Bugle because there was a blurry image of him swinging through the city the other day on the screen. 

He turned it up, frowning. The Bugle always seemed to have something negative to say about him. _"- may act like a hero, but in reality, all he does is cause trouble. In just the last three days, Queens' vigilante has manage to cause the loss of four lives and let three muggers get away. Some may say these are accidents, but if you ask me, it's just someone who has absolutely no idea what they're doing, trying to play hero."_

Peter didn't know when the tears started streaming down his face, just that they didn't seem to be stopping anytime soon. Crying out, he hauled himself up and stumbled to the bathroom, not able to see too well through his tears.

He sniffled starting to riffle through the cabinet drawer until he found his blades. Shakily, he pulled one out, managing not to nick his finger this time, and slid to the ground, trembling.

Peter's gaze dropped down to his wrists, where his latest cuts were just starting to heal, and took a deep breath, trying to stop crying. But the tears just wouldn't stop, no matter how hard he tried. Without a second thought, he dug the blade into his wrist and dragged it along, hissing as he did so. It stung so, so good. 

Those cuts were deeper than the other ones but that didn't matter to him. In fact, he quite liked the beauty of how much blood bubbled up. Once he was done littering his arms with more self inflicted cuts, he cleaned the blade and put it back, then rinsed the blood from his arms and stumbled out of the bathroom.

He turns off the TV, seeing J. Jonah Jameson and wanting to turn around and go back in, then limped into his room. Holding his side,  he cried harder than he had before. He sobbed miserably, just wanting his old life back. He wanted his friends, and he wanted his aunt to come home and hold him. He wanted his uncle to be alive. He wanted Flash to stop bullying him. He wanted his _parents_ for crying out loud. 

He just _wanted._

 


	5. Day 3

Tony groaned as he came back to consciousness, his head pounding and his body aching. The last thing he remembered was that he was driving towards the meeting Pepper had wanted him at, then he'd seen something out of the corner of his eyes. Everything after that was just loud noises and a whole lot of pain.

He glared down at the cast on his arm and sighed in contempt, turning to see Happy and Pepper at his side. "Don't even think about getting off that bed, Tony. You fractured your ankle, broke your arm, got a concussion, and have seven stitches on your abdomen." Pepper grounded out, pushing him back down when he tried to sit up. 

The billionaire merely shrugged, though he was groaning on the inside, knowing how long it would take to recover. "I've had worse. Come on, it's a lab day with the kid." He said, throwing his covers off and trying to sit up again. Happy and Pepper jumped up, and this time both of them push him back down, much to his displeasure. 

"Come on," Tony whined, "The kid's been kinda down lately and I know he likes it in the lab." Pepper raised her brows. 

"He can wait a few days, Tony. You're staying there. Besides, you _know_  he'd want you to stay in bed and get better." She said exasperatedly. 

"Help me out here, buddy." Tony begged Happy, seeing that he wasn't getting anywhere with his fiancée. 

"Sorry, Boss, Miss Potts is right." The man said, raising his hands in surrender. He was clearly much more afraid of the fiery redhead than him. Tony sighed in defeat, laying back in the bed, already bored out of his mind. 

"Fine. At least let the kid know so he can get a ride from someone else tonight. I heard it's supposed to rain hard." 

* * *

The only thing that got Peter out of bed and off to school was the excitement of being able to go see Mr. Stark afterwards. So he put up with the unkind shoves and the pain they brought. Seeing his mentor was basically his only light in the sea of darkness all around him.

He put up with being ignored by the best friend he'd ever had. And he put up with MJ scoffing every time she saw him. He even made it until lunch without cutting. 

Then of course he went to the bathroom and sliced up his arms, all the way to his shoulders this time. He'd never done that before. Normally it was just down by his wrists, but this time he just didn't want to stop, never wanted to stop. 

He was sitting in his last class of the day, ignoring the teacher like usual and staring out the window, when it started pouring. With a shiver, he pulled his sweatshirt tighter around himself and started scratching at his cuts. 

They had been starting to heal, but he just stopped that process. At least he didn't have to walk in this rain like he had countless times before, because Happy was picking him up. A grin graced his lips for the first time in a few days because, since it was Friday, he might be able to stay the night at the compound. "What are you smiling about, Penis?" Flash sneered, but Peter chose to ignore him.

Just as the bell rang, the teen heard his phone go off. Pulling it out excitedly, he smiled when he saw it was Happy. "Hey loser, who's that? Your girlfriend? Oh wait, you don't have one!" Flash sneered. 

Peter's cheeks reddened and his lips pulled back down into a frown as Flash and his goons fled the room. He sighed, then answered the phone with a fake cheery voice. "Hi, Happy! Are you here already? Is that why you're calling, because I just got out of class so I can head out now." He chattered. 

Happy sighed, and Peter winced. He could practically _feel_ the annoyance in the man's tone. "Sorry kid, we're going to have to cancel the lab day. Think you can get a ride home with that friend of yours, Ned?" The man said, making Peter deflate sadly. 

"Of course." He lied, hiding the tremble in his voice. He didn't bother to say goodbye before hanging up on the man. Normally he'd feel bad but who the hell cared anymore? Of course Mr. Stark got tired of him. It had been inevitable. 

Now everyone had left him. His parents. His uncle. His aunt. His friends. His mentor. _Everybody._ Maybe he should leave too. He scoffed at the thought and pulled himself up, grabbing his stuff.

But honestly, would that be so bad? If he was just gone? His answer chilled him to his bones as he shoved his stuff in his locker. No. It wouldn't be bad. He shook the thought away and pulled his bag on, walking from the building and pulling his hood up.

Peter fingered the blade in his pocket, not caring much as it cut open his hand again. He ignored how rain water soaked him and dripped from his curls onto his face. He ignored the shudders racking his body. Hadn't he heard that spiders couldn't thermoregulate?

 He ignored  _everything._

 


	6. Day 2

The second Peter woke up, he groaned immediately. He could barely breath through his nose thanks to his new cold, and his head was pounding as though someone was repeatedly slamming a jackhammer into his skull. 

On top of that, his stab wound had bled through, so his shirt and sheets were soaked in blood. The teen struggled to stand up, whimpering in pain, screwing his eyes shut, and letting out a sharp gasp. Finally, with a stifled groan, he pressed a shaky hand to it, almost blacking out from the pain, and managed to climb to his feet.

Stumbling into the bathroom with raspy and unsteady breaths, he unwrapped the bandages from his torso and began shuffling through the cabinet to grab a rag. Painfully, he got the rag wet from the sink it and wiped down the wound, while biting his lip so hard he tasted blood, and holding onto the sink so tightly his hand turned white.

Peter wasn't surprised when part of the porcelain crumbled in his hand, and he felt pieces of it dig into his palm, scrunching his nose in discomfort as blood rolled down his chin from his lip. He quickly finished wrapping his side up again, a lot tighter then before, and nearly toppled over from the pain. 

His vision doubled for a moment and he breathed sharply from his nose, not realizing until he'd started again that he had been holding his breath. Peter panted, stumbling from the bathroom and toward his closet. For a moment, he wondered if maybe he could take a break, just let himself heal for a day, but then he realized how _selfish_  that would be. 

There were crimes happening right that second, and he wanted to take a vacation? He would've shuddered in disgust if he didn't know it would hurt so much.

Grabbing his suit, he pulled it on quickly, trying to ignore the burning pain in his side. It didn't work, and he chose instead to ignore the tears dripping down his face. After taking a shuddering and steadying breath, his tongue darted out to lick at his already scabbing lip before he finally slipped the mask over his head. 

"Hello Peter. I'm sensing a deep wound on your side that seems to be infected. You should seek medical help immediately. Would you like me to call Mr. Stark?" Karen informed him, oh so helpfully.

"I'm fine, Karen. Don't call Mr. Stark. Don't _ever_ call Mister Stark. It's not like he'd care anyway." Peter grumbled in a clipped tone, opening his window and swinging out. It took literally everything in him not to scream with every movement. 

"Of course, Peter. I would still highly recommend it, though."

At least as Spider-Man, people needed him. "Got anything for me, Karen?" He questioned, electing to ignore her response, and let his eyes drift over the city.

 "Peter, I would really advise you to call Mr. Stark." The AI urged again, sounding concerned. Peter rolled his eyes, groaning.

"Just _stop_ already." 

"Yes, Peter." She relented, sounding rather sad. 

He gritted his teeth, trying to spot something to do, something to help with. Something to make him feel useful. "Got anything for me?"

Karen made a noise almost like a sigh. "There's a robbery on seventh." 

Peter smiled under the mask, though it turned out as more of a grimace. "Thanks." He murmured, changing course and swinging the opposite way he'd came.

Within a few moments, he was dropping down in front of the bank, clenching his fists to keep from yelling out in pain. He looked around at the cops on scene and tilted his head in confusion. Why weren't they doing anything?

"There's a hostage situation inside, Spider-Man. Be careful." An officer warned, seeming to read the boy's mind. 

Peter nodded, realization dawning on his face, and walked inside cautiously, spotting three men wearing ski masks and aiming guns at the cowering civilians on the ground. That had to mean there was at least one more person in the back getting money.

God, this was so cliché. Who _actually_ wore ski masks when robbing a bank? "Guys, it's not nice to aim guns at people. Didn't your moms ever teach you manners?" The vigilante scolded confidently, switching from Peter Parker to Spider-Man. 

There was a big difference between the two. While Peter Parker was a nerdy, little nobody, Spider-Man was something else. Spider-Man was confident and he was needed and he was _somebody._

Immediately, the three gunmen started firing at him, causing most of the hostages to begin screaming in fear. Peter launched himself at the ceiling and flipped over their heads, webbing two of them together while simultaneously throwing them across the room. 

They landed on the ground with their guns far from them, complaining and yelling. The other one tried to shoot Peter again and the teen wondered if all criminals were stupid. Of course, the criminal missed his mark.

The boy quickly webbed the gun to the wall and knocked the man out, smiling when a few of the hostages began cheering. Peter darted into the bank vault and found not one, but two gunmen inside grabbing money. 

Without pause, he webbed one's gun to the wall and kicked the others' out of his hands. The first one threw a punch at him but Peter caught his hand and knocked him out in seconds.Then the second one tried to kick him (seriously, were they brain damaged?) and he pulled his leg out from under him, knocking him out as well.

Thinking he was done, the brunet turned and walked out of the vault, only to see another gunman aiming his gun at a hostage; a young brunette woman who was crying and reaching for a man holding a small child, both crying as well. 

Peter's heart _dropped._ Her eyes reminded him so deeply of May's, and he knew he couldn't let her get hurt.

"Hey, hey! Let her go!" He exclaimed, holding his hands up in surrender. The man jerked the woman back apprehensively, who screamed in fear. "Hey! It's me you want! Just let her go!" Peter cried, his voice high pitched and terrified. 

He could _not_ let this woman die. The man started to lower his weapon and Peter thanked the lord above, taking a hesitant step forward, only for the man to pull the trigger. Peter couldn't even react, seeing as the woman didn't have time to scream before there was a hole through the side of her head, her body falling to the floor with a thud. 

Blood was splattered over the front of his suit now, and his breaths came out stuttered, shock the only thing he was feeling.

It quickly turned to devastation, though, as everyone, including Peter screamed.  The man seemed to realize his mistake, and tried to run. The boy knocked the man out through his tears, and couldn't bear to hear the screaming man and sobbing child, swinging off at once. That was all his fault. Oh god, it was all his fault.

He broke down sobbing and felt his hands shake, loosening from his webs, and landed on a random roof. "Peter, you seem to be experiencing another severe panic attack. _Please_ let me contact Mr. Stark." Karen pleaded, barely heard over Peter's loud, ugly cries. 

He couldn't speak through his cries so he merely shook his head violently and turned onto his side with a small shout. Why did he step forward? Why had he done that? He was such a fuck-up! Why couldn't he just be better? Why?

The boy curled himself up into a ball and sobbed once again. He sure did that a lot now lately, didn't he? Feeling his eyes drift closed as his body shook with cries, he didn't care much. All he payed attention to was the gravel digging into his cheek and the woman's terrified eyes boring into his, before he drifted out of the light. Even the sounds of Karen yelling at him couldn't keep him conscious.

 


	7. Day 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y’all know what’s coming

When Peter finally awoke, it was to Karen's alarmed yelling. He finally groaned in pain, feeling exhausted. "I'm awake, Karen. Shut up already." He croaked, his voice hoarse and eyes screwed up in pain.

"Peter, you've been unconscious for over twelve hours!" The AI cried, concerned.

"Probably cause I don't eat or sleep." Peter murmured obviously and, not able to stand up, crawled to the edge of the roof with a grunt.

When the AI didn't respond to his terrible attempt at humor, he sighed sadly. 

"Karen, do I have any messages?" He questioned, pulling himself up to sit on the ledge and stare out at the cars below. 

"You have one text message from May Parker. Would you like me to read it to you?" Karen responded, sounding slightly calmer now that he was awake. 

"Yeah, sure. She's probably just telling me how much of a disappointment I am anyways." He replied, unexpected tears welling in his eyes. 

" _May Parker: Sorry I won't be off today like I thought. I'll be home around eleven tonight and I expect you to be awake so we can talk about your absences._ " Karen recited dutifully.

Peter swallowed down the lump in his throat, not even trying to stop his tears anymore. It _hurt._ It just fucking hurt. Everybody left him. Nobody cared about him anymore. Had they ever?

He just wanted to fucking die. Sniffling quietly, his chin trembled. There wasn't really a point anymore, was there? "Karen?" He whimpered softly. 

"Yes, Peter?" She answered, and he could hear how she was silently begging him to call his mentor. He didn't, of course. 

"Why. . . Why does everyone hate me?" He said instead, his voice breaking. It was all he wanted to know. What was so terrible about him that nobody bothered to care?

 "What are you talking about, Peter? Nobody hates you." Karen responded, confused and stubborn. Peter struggled to breathe clearly through his mask but didn't quite care.

"Then why doesn't Ned talk to me? Why does MJ never even look at me? Why does Flash treat me like the scum of the earth? Why does May express everyday how much of a disappointment I am? Why doesn't Mr. Stark want to be around me? Why does Happy hate the sound of my voice?" He was yelling by the end of it, tears rolling down his face and his breaths coming out in loud, quick pants.

Karen didn't seem to know what to say, so she said nothing at all. Peter didn't blame her.

"Why am I even here?" He whispered, so quiet that even he would have trouble hearing it, sniffling and shuddering. 

"Well, Mr. and Mrs. Parker-" 

Peter barked out a bitter laugh, cutting her off. 

"I mean - why shouldn't I just fucking die?" He corrected, blinking as moisture built up under the mask. 

"Peter, _please_ call Mr. Stark. He would love to help you." Karen begged, heartbroken. Peter shook his head stubbornly and tried to will himself to stop crying but the tears just kept coming.

"Peter, you would be extremely missed. Please don't do anything irrational." Karen pleaded with the teen. 

"It's not irrational if nobody fucking cares! Hell, _I_ don't care! I just want it all to end!" He yelled, his voice cracking with emotion. It was in that moment he knew that what he'd spoken was the truth. He didn't want to be alive anymore. And if he was really being truthful with himself, he didn't think he had for a long, long time.

His legs trembled beneath him and he nearly slipped. "Karen?" He whispered, blinking sluggishly and looking down at his bleeding side. 

"Yes, Peter?" Karen still sounded stressed. 

"How long until I die?" 

His own question sent chills down his spine.

Karen made a strange noise. "Assuming you don't get medical help, which I extremely recommend, approximately one day." The AI answered softly. Peter swallowed. He didn't want to wait that long. 

He just wanted it to be over. He didn't want to hurt anymore. "And if I fall now?" 

"The results would be immediate." Karen responded in the saddest tone he'd ever heard from her. He'd heard enough, now. 

"Can you. . . Can you tell them all that I'm sorry?" He breathed. 

"Of course Peter." Karen responded sadly and quietly. He was sorry to hurt her like that, but it wasn't going to stop him.

That'd be kind of rude of him, wouldn't it? Just having an AI say goodbye? "Actually, could you, um, start recording me now?" He asked hesitantly. The only response was a quiet beep, signaling to him that he was being recorded.

He sniffled, and began. "I, uh. . . I figured it wouldn't be that great to just have Karen say goodbye, so here's this, I guess." He cleared his throat, eyes flicking back and forth, from the ground and back.

"I'm tired. I'm s-so, so tired," his voice broke, _shattered,_ "It hurts. Everything hurts. I c- I can't do this anymore. I don't understand, I don't get it. I don't know what I _did._  Why does everybody hate me? What did I ever do to push everyone away? What did I do to deserve this?" He had to pause his speaking for a moment as he sobbed. 

"I g-guess it doesn't matter anymore, though, does it? I'll be gone soon anyway." His eyes slid sadly over the streets below. "To May. . . I love you. I know you love me too, I know you have work and you have to discipline me for skipping school, but I kinda just wanted my aunt, you know? It hurts to be so alone." His voice sounded almost hollow at that point. 

"T-To Happy. I know my rambles are annoying and- and they're dumb, but you were the only one who listened. Used to anyway. I just wanted someone to talk to. . . It's not your fault, though." He sniffled, shuddering. 

"Mr. Stark, this is probably weird, some kid you were forced to watch leaving some emotional suicide note? I know you don't feel the same, but after my Dad, and after Ben, I thought I'd finally had a father figure that would stick around, you know? Don't blame yourself, I knew you'd leave me eventually. Everyone does. I love you, Mr. Stark.

"U-Uh, Ned. Wow. I've known you since, what, second grade? I thought- I thought that it'd be you and me forever, best friends till we were old and gray. I guess I should have known it was too good to be true. Good ol' Parker Luck, huh? Anyway, I love you man.

"MJ, I don't know what I ever did to you, ever did to anyone, but before things started going downhill, before all of _this_ happened, I could see myself becoming your friend. I could see myself hanging out with you like I hung out with Ned. What was it that you said to me that one day, your friends call you MJ? I thought that's what I was; your friend."

And finally, last and most definitely least, "Flash. Flash Thompson. From the second we met, I was the scum of the Earth to you, I was broke trash, I was the skinny nerd who had all the answers to the homework, and I was the kid you bullied. I never did anything to you, I never said a mean word to you. So, why? Why did you have to hurt me, _so much_?

"All of you, why did you have to hurt me? What did I _do?_ I always did my best to be kind, I always kept my head down, I-I did _good_. I thought that as Spider-Man, I was doing something, I was making a change in the world. But I didn't. I wasn't. I'll always just be nerdy, little Penis Parker. . . I'm sorry. . ."

After his lengthy goodbye, Peter stood there, trembling as sobbing. He was crying heavily, just wanting the pain to end. "Could you post that, please?" He asked in a small voice. 

"Where?"

"Anywhere. Everywhere. Just make sure everyone I mentioned gets it. I guess telling the world where their failed vigilante went, wouldn't be so bad."

"Of course, Peter. I'll miss you." Karen whispered, devastated, wishing that she hadn't been hacked, so she could call Mr. Stark immediately.

"Bye." Peter whispered, taking off his mask and dropping it beside him. He turned around, not wanting to watch the ground raise as he dropped. Closing his eyes, he stepped backward, not crying anymore, and he fell. 

That was the end of Peter Parker.

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Across The Sky (And Down From Heaven)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23090191) by [contextclues](https://archiveofourown.org/users/contextclues/pseuds/contextclues)




End file.
